


Dragged Away

by HotGoatCheese



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: An American Tail (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Eye Injury, Gen, Not Fievels tagging for safety, Panic, Panic Attacks, Whoever decided Fievel Goes West wasn't Canon was wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 03:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotGoatCheese/pseuds/HotGoatCheese
Summary: A thin, spindly arm caught hold of him by the shoulder. Fievels grip tightened on his pistol and he raised it slightly as he turned to see who wanted his attention. That didn't go so well with the motion of whoever had dared come up behind him though, as they pulled slightly at that shoulder...And suddenly Fievel's feet left the ground.





	Dragged Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tulip_the_Literate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulip_the_Literate/gifts).

> I played a bit fast and loose with the theme today, and uh, that might be part of why it's so late. The other part being some good old-fashioned writers block.

Fievel liked to think he had grown up a lot in the last few years. He liked to think he had matured and was better able to handle himself. Especially in and around Green River, where he'd spent the last several years of his life. Getting to know the surrounding grass lands, the railway up for miles in each direction. He tried not to stray too far from it in his explorations. Especially not when he was alone. 

He was a bit north of town today. Acting out the lead-up to a shootout, something his first week in Green River had primed him to experience a lot more of than the exactly zero he'd seen since then. He wasn't quite as lost in the fantasy as he use to get, mentally keeping an eye on the time. A bank or something had opened up a few towns over and some rich guy took an interest in Papa's violins. One thing led to another and there was a big ole' hunk of cheddar sitting on the stove at home for dinner. Fievel wasn't planning to be late tonight. 

Of course, the best laid plans...

A thin, spindly arm caught hold of him by the shoulder. Fievels grip tightened on his pistol and he raised it slightly as he turned to see who wanted his attention. That didn't go so well with the motion of whoever had dared come up behind him though, as they pulled slightly at that shoulder...

And suddenly Fievel's feet left the ground. 

It was less than a second. In that time he twisted fully, mid-air, aimed square for the wide, bugged-out eyes of his assailant and fired a full-sized cork at close range. The impact was instant and came with a cry of pain. That too-narrow arm never let go of Fievels shoulder though. Never freed him.

Impact on the ground came with the realization that, with the air pushed out of his lungs, his little cork was his only ammunition, and he'd spent it. And now, with the tangled grip on his shirt, whoever it was could drag him...anywhere. For any reason. 

Then they let go. 

Fievel was still terrified. Breath still coming in short, quick gasps and heart racing too quick as he scrambled too fast and got to his feet, spinning to look at his assailant...who wasn't an assailant at all. "Ffff...Felix!" he stammered. 

The elderly cricket had both forelegs covering its left eye, "Was Say Good Morning." he whined in his slightly broken English. 

An emotion sort-of like guilt crept in under the fear, but did nothing to alleviate it. It was fine. It should be completely fine. It was just Felix the Cricket, a neighbor, a friend even. The feeling of that touch though, the pull, his feet leaving the ground... and now this. .

t wasn't the right thing to do, but Fievel wasn't left with many options. 

He turned and ran. 


End file.
